


twilight lovers

by Who Shot AR (akerwis)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Butch/Femme, Clothed Sex, F/F, Formerly Anonymous, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Romance, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akerwis/pseuds/Who%20Shot%20AR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Originally posted at the <a href="http://robellion.livejournal.com/2102.html?thread=120374#t120374">ASOIAF kinkmeme, round 3</a>.</p></blockquote>





	twilight lovers

There have been no feasts for some time now, but sometimes Alayne and Mya imagine there was and promise to meet covertly in Alayne's chambers late that night. Alayne dresses in the finery Petyr has given her, heavy pieces of jewelry and heavier brocade gowns, her hair netted at the nape of her neck, and imagines slipping away from the festivities as she waits near the fireplace. Mya, who cheerfully attends such occasions in whatever clothing she cares to, requires no especial costume and comes to her in ringmail and riding leathers, ragged hair smelling of straw.

Alayne rises from her seat at Mya's entrance and offers her hand; her visitor takes it in one of her own, turns it over, and kisses her palm in greeting. "You look well, my lady."

"As do you, ser," Alayne replies, her stomach twisting when she feels the tip of Mya's tongue dart out at one of the creases in her palm. It is only then that she notes that Mya holds a bundle in her other hand larger than that which usually accompanies her. "What have you brought with?"

Mya smiles, though something in her brilliant blue eyes seems far from the curve of her mouth, and gestures for Alayne to sit. "A proposition."

When Mya does not speak further, Alayne inclines her head. "Do go on."

Without a word, Mya carefully pulls from the mess of fabric that which she always brings along, sets it aside, and unfurls what remains. The breath catches in Alayne's throat, and she reaches out to touch the dark, heavy wool with a single finger.

"It isn't the right kind of cloak," Mya says, her voice suddenly gruff, "but I hoped you might wear it anyway. If only for tonight."

Alayne nods, words momentarily lost to her, and goes to her wardrobe. The cloak she wants finds her fingertips almost immediately, fur-trimmed and white as snow. It lacks the appropriate sigil, but she lacks the appropriate name to bear a direwolf.

Their ceremony is as short as two kisses, as first Alayne and then Mya sweeps her cape around the other's shoulders and fastens it blindly at the neck. When Mya has secured the cape on Alayne's shoulders, she breaks their embrace to take in hand the other object from her bundle, wrapped discreetly in rough cloth. Then, she kisses Alayne again, harder, and Alayne presses against her, urging her toward the bed.

They normally revel in the feel of skin against skin, but Alayne is reluctant to remove her cloak, and she suspects Mya might be, too. "Could we--without undressing?" she breathes against Mya's lips, and Mya nods so vigorously that their heads knock together.

Each pauses a moment then, Alayne giggling and Mya looking sheepish--and, after kissing Alayne's forehead in a silent apology, coaxes her onto the bed until Alayne is on her back.

Mya lays next to her, half on top of her, kissing the place where her ear meets her jaw until the juncture between Alayne's legs throbs painfully with need. She arches up, looking for the pressure of Mya's thigh, and whimpers when Mya moves out of her reach. "Not yet."

Alayne can feel the warmth of Mya's words in the breath that makes her neck tickle, followed by the warmth of her tongue. She squirms, resisting the desire to rub her legs together in hopes of sating some of her longing.

The rings of metal on Mya's front occasionally catch on the stiff fabric of Alayne's bodice and skirt as Mya's mouth kisses down to the pendant hanging between Alayne's breasts, just above the neckline of her dress. But the fur-lined cloak drapes over them, a tent to cover both their bodies, while the other, spread out beneath Alayne, meets it and serves as their ground.

They are both breathing heavily when Mya sits up, straddling Alayne's stomach, the metal on her chest glinting in the firelight. She picks up the remaining bundle of rough cloth and unwraps the layers from her cock; it, too, picks up the warmth of the fire's glow, reflected in the smooth, carefully carved wooden surface. Mya sets it on the plane of Alayne's stomach, but it rolls back toward Mya the moment Alayne's chest rises with a breath.

"Here," Mya says, picking it up and pressing it into Alayne's hand. "Hold this, won't you?"

  
She is trying to sound annoyed, but she is in far too good a mood for it to work, and Alayne gladly holds it up in the dim light, just above her breasts. As Mya unlaces her breeches, Alayne strokes the end of the cock meant for her, stroking it as though it were a beloved pet. Their gazes lock over the phallus, Mya's eyes betraying her desire as they bore into Alayne's. She cannot wait much longer either, and she shivers when Mya's hand brushes over hers, taking the cock back from her.

The dark thatch of hair between Mya's legs peeks out from the opening in her leathers as she swings a leg back over Alayne's body and kneels next to her, giving Alayne the opportunity to hitch up the skirts of her gown. They cascade back over her torso in a froth of sumptuous fabrics, revealing her legs, already spreading with anticipation. Mya groans at the sight, running her fingers through the damp auburn curls. Alayne's hips rise, trying to keep the contact as long as she can, but she does not return the touch; sometimes Mya wants the feeling of Alayne's fingers buried within her, but never after she has unwrapped the cock.

Mya moves over Alayne again, this time crouched between her knees, and Alayne inches up on her elbows to watch her slide her end of the cock into place and secure it. Mya's low, quiet moan is a familiar sound, one that means she is ready, and she moves closer, so close that Alayne can feel the tip of the wooden cock pressing against the sensitive strip of skin where one leg meets the edge of her mound.

"Are you ready?" she asks, as she always does.

"Yes." Alayne reaches down with one hand and moves the cock with practiced ease to her sex, and Mya bears down.

Each time, Alayne is momentarily breathless at the feeling of Mya's cock filling her, pressing inflexibly into her, this time accompanied by the new sensations of the stiff restriction of her bodice and Mya's rough mail against her bare arms. Mya's mouth is on hers, more desperately than Alayne has ever remembered, her hips setting their rhythm, and her hands twisting on the net covering Alayne's thick twist of hair.

Alayne winces when Mya works the net off without much grace, and her lover slows, asks in a worried tone, "Did I hurt you?"

"No. Keep going." Alayne's hips buck up, her words barely more than panting. "Please-- _please_ \--"

They must be quiet, must not make such noise that they might be discovered, but neither can keep from hushed whines and growls. Mya buries her hands in Alayne's tresses, mouth once again on her neck, sucking where her blood pounds out an echo of her heartbeat. Alayne cannot find her breath, pushing up and up as she contracts against Mya's cock, gripping Mya's bony shoulders so tightly that she might worry for bruising them if she was in another state of mind. The worn, smooth leather of old breeches against her thighs is almost like feeling Mya's own skin.

Mya grinds down against Alayne and comes several seconds later, marked only by her sudden lack of movement, body tensing against Alayne's. Mya often comes silently, or with a whimper caught in the back of her throat.

When they are lying next to each other once more, one of Alayne's legs (and an abundance of brocade) swung over Mya's hip, they are still connected by Mya's cock. Between her slowing breaths, Mya asks, with a nakedness she is too distracted to hide, "You are mine, then? No matter what anyone might do to you outside this bed?"

Alayne answers immediately, "If you are mine."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the [ASOIAF kinkmeme, round 3](http://robellion.livejournal.com/2102.html?thread=120374#t120374).


End file.
